


A Twilight Adventure

by orphan_account



Category: I Spy (TV), Indiana Jones, Love Is Where You Find It - Christian
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Femslash, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty and Kelly are caught in an adventure with lesbians in Calcutta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Twilight Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dorinda. The only one of the three fandoms you need to know before reading is I Spy.
> 
> 'Love Is Where You Find It' is a '60s lesbian pulp novel by Paula Christian.
> 
> There is no Indy in this, I just have Irina Spalko appear in the backstory.

'So, here we are again.' Scotty sighed.

'What are you talking about? I'm sure we've never been locked up in a basement in Calcutta before.'

'What about last June?'

'That was a dungeon, Scotty. They even had a dungeon keeper with an ugly scar and a ring of keys.'

'It was filled with boxes of lettuce and barrels of dry wine.'

'So the dungeon keeper was short on storage space, and had one of those famous Indian lettuce-and-wine parties coming up. My point is, I'm pretty sure this situation is unique in our experience.'

Scotty glanced up at the slit of light on top of the rickety wooden staircase, and watched for shadows. There hadn't been so much as a sound from above in the last twelve minutes.

'Mind you, I wish we did have lettuce and wine. At least it gave us something to work with. I'd never before realized what excellent booby-trapping potential that combination has.' Kelly glanced once more around the bare clay walls and stifled a sigh of frustration.

'Me too,' said Scotty, 'because I don't like to try a six foot jump.' He shifted his legs slightly; they were tied tight enough for the rope to dig into his flesh. 'Do you?'

Kelly followed his line of sight and saw what he meant. 'I don't think we have a choice.'

-

It had all started with a woman. It always started with a woman. Well, that, or a Triad boss being strangled on a street corner, or a mysterious poison ring found in an envelope addressed to Kelly, or even, sometimes, orders from their superiors – but quite often, these things started with a woman.

Her hair was cut short and brushed back neatly from a pale, slightly burned aquiline face, and she wore rather masculine slacks. She carried her camera on a strap around her neck, though its carrying bag was also slung across her shoulder. Her grip, shaking hands, was firm. 'Dee Sanders.'

'Kelly Robinson,' Kelly replied with a nod.

'I know. I saw you out on the court. Mrs Anish pointed you out. I don't know much about tennis, but I'm learning, and you certainly show up well in photos.' She held up her camera, a professional, if old-fashioned one. 'I'm doing an athletics series for a company called Nike later this year. Don't worry,' she added when she saw his raised eyebrow, 'these won't end up in ads. I was just practicing action shots today. Unless you want to sign a model release? I've got some forms if you're interested.'

'No thanks.' Kelly laughed. 'I'd rather not have my sweaty game face plastered all over billboards. Although, I don't know, look me up in a year? Who knows, I might be down on my luck.'

Dee smiled. 'I just might. It was a good game face. And who knows, it might be good for your business, too.'

Not likely, Kelly thought, but he could see her point – what was a disadvantage to an international spy could be an advantage to a tennis bum.

It was scorching hot even under the canopy where the drinks were being served, but relief would come soon enough when the sun sank under the horizon. Their host, Captain Godfrey, was enjoying himself immensely, by the sound of his booming laughter coming from the other end of the crowded area. Apparently the amateurs he'd backed up at the betting table had done well. They were to go back to his spacious house at the end of the day, where Kelly and Scotty were boarding for the week, for once without any pretext other than to lay low and wait for orders, and take part in an end-of-the-season celebration that, by the looks of the clinking glasses and the glittering jewels moving amidst the sensible white sun-dresses and light sporting clothes, was already getting going. Kelly's eye found Scotty in his short beige jacket, sweat gleaming on his brow, talking to a young man in a tuxedo, and wondered – not for the first time – how he managed to simply make the other man look over-dressed. Kelly was not a bad dresser himself in his own opinion, but that was not the same as the ability to look good in anything. It filled him with something that was not quite admiration, but certainly not envy either – an awe he'd never confess to.

Dee's thoughts seemed to have followed his, to a point at least. 'I think it's about time I left you to go get cleaned up,' she said, and smiled at him in apology. 'I have the captain's invitation, so I expect we'll see each other at the mansion?'

'Is it a mansion? It is a rather large house.'

Dee shrugged. 'I live in New York. It's mansion enough for me.'

She disappeared into the crowd, and it took Kelly a moment or two before he realized, to his surprise, that he had been talking to a very attractive woman for some ten minutes without feeling the slightest urge to flirt.

-

'Ms Sanders, allow me to present Alexander Scott. Scotty, this is Dee Sanders.'

'Pleased to meet you,' said Dee and shook Scotty's hand. 'But call me Dee, both of you.' She was wearing something dark green and decadent, and had curled her short hair, giving quite a different impression from the simple practical look she'd worn earlier in the day.

'Scotty,' said Scotty and smiled.

'You're traveling together?' she asked, glancing from Scotty to Kelly and back again.

'I'm the guy who tries to make this ox hit the ball with the middle of the racket,' he pointed to his palm, 'instead of the frame,' and he pointed to his index finger. 'Sometimes it even works.'

'It was just that one time, and it was a miracle I caught the ball at all!'

'It always is, Kel.' Scotty grinned and patted his shoulder.

Dusk had fallen, and in the breeze coming from the open balcony doors the room was pleasantly cool despite the still thickening crowd of guests. Fresh from showers and into clean evening dress, the two men felt quite comfortable, a marked contrast to the heat and exertion of the day, and with a few drinks in him, Kelly looked like he was becoming almost too relaxed.

Scotty noticed the puzzled look Kelly gave Dee every now and then, and the odd look in Dee's eye as she smiled at both of them, and wondered if an unsuccessful pass had been made somewhere during the day. Scotty hoped Kelly would not get himself involved, as his affairs almost invariably ended badly. Furthermore, there was something – a kind of a sadness – behind Dee's eyes, that Scotty could almost recognize, and that set off some minor alarm in the back of his mind.

They talked for a while, about her previous work, which it turned out Scotty was familiar with, and about Paris. The captain sailed in after a moment with a countess or two in tow and a wave of people and introductions soon carried them apart. Dusk turned into night, the band began to play in the garden, games of whist flowered up in the drawing room, and couples walked out in the garden under the beautiful night sky. Scotty found himself cornered into a discussion of techniques with a German poet who was also an enthusiast of Japanese martial arts, and Kelly barely managed to escape an aging baroness, who'd decided to make him her latest pet, by ducking behind a potted plant in the balcony. Peering through the leaves, he saw her pass a couple of times and then head for the whist tables, and breathed a sigh of relief.

'I know the feeling,' said a wry voice, and, surprised and ashamed of himself for being surprised, Kelly wheeled around to see Dee sitting against a stone pillar, a cigarette dangling from her fingers.

'Who are you hiding from, then?' he said, straightening his tie by way of regaining composure.

'No-one.' She looked across the garden to the driveway, her eyes flicking from one end to the other.

'Who are you waiting for, then?' asked Kelly gently.

Dee shivered, as if from the breeze, or perhaps from surprise. 'No-one,' she murmured. 'Anymore. I guess sh-- they were too tired for the party, after all.' She turned to him with a forced smile. 'I was supposed to meet some people here, that's all.'

She turned back, and it took two blinks for Kelly to realize what he'd sensed before, and why he'd known instinctively not to hit on this particular beautiful woman.

'I guess I benefit by her negligence,' he said slowly. 'Care to dance?'

A blush rose on her face, but she looked at him steadily, searchingly, and then seemed to relax. 'Delighted.' She smiled.

They made their way down to the lighted platform in the garden, and the band struck out a slow courtly tune. They twirled about in companiable silence. 'So, who is she?' Kelly asked, just in case Dee still wasn't sure he'd guessed.

'You might actually have heard of her,' Dee said. 'Martie Thornton – the singer?'

'I heard her once at a club. Superb.' Kelly forced his shoulders to relax. He knew Martie Thornton for two things besides her singing – that she was openly lesbian, and that her name was in the Pentagon files as a double agent.

'We've been... traveling together for close on two years, now,' said Dee, 'whenever we can, and we're neither of us always at liberty. How long have you and Scotty been together?'

'A little longer than that,' he said, still thinking back to the file. Funny how these little connections just seem to crop up.

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. 'It isn't easy, is it?'

'What isn't easy, my dear?'

'Living a double life.' Kelly had to bring her around in a twirl in order to get his physical reaction of surprise under control once more. 'It's not easy for Martie, either, but I have to keep up at least a pretense of a pretense, or it would mean my job.' She lifted her head to look at him. 'You too, I expect. Unless you turn professional, half your job is pleasing the well-to-do society – such as that grande dame I saw you dodging earlier.'

'My dear, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.'

She smiled. 'Of course you don't.'

In another two blinks, which seems to have become the standard unit of time when it came to reacting to Dee, he realized what she'd meant, and that it wasn't his life as an agent.

He opened his mouth to protest violently, but then thought again. They would likely never meet again. She was at her ease now. No need to ruin it. It did, however, make him feel as if the bottom of his belly had fallen out, and he may have missed a step or two.

Dee noticed. 'Let's get drinks.' They did, and Kelly noticed for the first time that she was getting unsteady on her feet, too. He tried to quell the confusion of emotions her mistake had brought up by trying to remember everything he could about Martie Thornton. She'd liaised with internationals in Paris and Madrid, where she co-owned clubs, and had been deep into the Soviet Army's science projects at one point, years ago. He'd thought her mostly inactive since 1961. There was no reason to expect her presence in Calcutta to tie into his and Scotty's, especially since they were inactive at the moment themselves.

'I should go,' said Dee, and as she was nearly spilling her latest glass, he agreed, and asked a waiter to call her a cab. He had to support her on the way to the gates. She thanked him, kissed his cheek, smelling of perfume, wine and a hint of cigarettes, and clambered into the cab.

The motor was already running when he saw the gun on the driver's lap.

His hand was on the latch, so he turned it and threw himself into the back seat after Dee, and fumbled for his gun in the holster. The car was already speeding up, and it swerved as the driver turned around with the gun in his hand held like a club. All Kelly had time for was to feel the cold steel on his hand and see the movement of the driver's hand, behind it gleaming beady eyes, and then, with a flash of light and pain, he crumbled onto the backseat, bleeding on the green velvet of Dee's dress, her scream fading in his ears.

-

Scotty had succumbed to the inevitable when he'd seen Dee lay her head on Kelly's shoulder, so he wasn't surprised when they made their way to the gates together and neither came back. He did think it unlike Kelly to not even let him know not to expect him back at the hotel. He hoped that didn't mean this fling was one of the serious ones. Kelly had to make his own mistakes, of course, and if putting his heart on the line time and time again was the way he coped with the job, Scotty could not begrudge him, no matter how many times he ended up raw all over, staring at the ceiling in the hotel bunk with dull eyes, remembering some woman's touch.

Scotty forced it out of his mind. He hung about on the outskirts of the dancing, outside the pool of light, and considered the crowd, and the prospect of retiring alone with a book, when he heard a new car pull up. A woman, approaching her forties, athletic and attractive, walked in through the gates, resplendent in something white and shining and bejeweled. She looked about anxiously, searching the crowd. This late in the evening, not even the doorman thought to go to her to guide her inside. Scotty walked up to her.

'Excuse me,' he offered, 'if you're looking for Captain Godfrey, I believe he's in the drawing room.'

'Oh, thank you,' she said, flashing a polite smile. 'Actually, do you know a Mrs Sanders? I meant to meet her hours ago, but ran into a bit of an adventure on the way. I'm Martie Thornton, by the way.'

'Alexander Scott,' Scotty said, and offered his hand. 'I know how that is,' he added. 'Do you mean a Dee Sanders, by any chance? She's already left the party.' He paused for a moment, considered, and then said, 'Have you looked in the Round Room? That's where I found April.'

Recognition flashed in Martie's eyes. 'Good heavens, really?' She placed a hand on her chest in a theatrical flutter. 'That brings me back.' She hooked an arm around his, and they strolled deeper into the garden. She lowered her voice. 'How did you know?'

'I've heard about you. In fact, the scoop of 1956 was drilled into my head as a casebook example of brilliant espionage by my then-supervisor, as opposed to bumbling about and getting into every sort of scrape without checking the lay of the land first. I've found your particular techniques difficult to apply, however, not being a lesbian.' He knew enough about her, too, to not expect her to shirk the word, and indeed she merely pursed her lips raised an eyebrow.

'That's quite a compliment, Mr Scott,' she said. 'It's all old hat for me now, though; I'm quite done with guns and secret papers and all that sort of thing. And all for the better, since I have Dee to think about, now.'

Scotty frowned, as he put two and two together. 'Dee is your...'

'My wife, practically, yes.' She glanced at him. 'Does that shock you?'

It did, but not for the reason Martie though. 'Excuse me,' said Scotty, and hurried back to the gates.

The ground was only partially lit by the party lights, and the shadows cast by pebbles were long and black, but even so Scotty could see the skid marks of the swerving car. Now that he thought back, he'd heard the sound of a screeching tire soon after Kelly and Dee had exited the grounds. He looked around, shifted some earth with his foot, and found Kelly's cloverleaf cuff-link.

Later on, he would think he'd acted rashly – that he should have gone back to Martie, got her to make a few calls, got her to give at least a possible explanation. At the moment, however, all he could feel was black rage, and he got on his rented motorcycle (undignified, perhaps, but ultimately the most useful when traveling through a city like Calcutta) and sped down the lane in his tails, the lights and music fading behind him.

Luckily the asphalt turned into a dirt road at the next bend, and he recognized the tire tracks from the driveway. He followed them until they turned into an even smaller side road going up a hill populated with low stone houses hung over with laundry, the smell of cooking coming even at this hour from one lighted dome. He stowed the motorcycle by the roadside, regretting for the first time his haste, and made his way quietly up the narrow road, feeling himself conspicuous in his evening dress.

He found the car parked under an even smaller road leading upwards, one that was no longer navigable by car even in the best of situations. Keeping to the shadows, he inspected the ground as best he could, and yes – there were tracks.

Scotty slipped his gun out of its holster and moved silently up the path.

-

Kelly came to in the uncomfortably familiar knowledge that his hands were tied. He was lying on an uneven floor and his head was pounding.

Judging by the signs he'd only been out 20, maybe 30 minutes. They couldn't be very far from Captain Godfrey's, then. He kept still, kept his eyes shut, and listened. He could hear a woman gulping, trying not to cry – most likely Dee. Good, she was alive, then. There were also the low voices of men, speaking Russian.

'[We'll have to kill him, of course, but there's no way to get rid of the body easily for a couple of days, and then it needs to be fairly fresh.]'

'[Cremation, sir?]'

'[The best way. But he needs to be made to look like a local, and we need to set it up with a sympathetic local priest. These charades are the safest way, even if they take time. Arrange it, will you, Sergeant? And in the meanwhile, throw him in the cellar]'.

'[Yes, sir.]'

Oh, wonderful, thought Kelly. These weren't ordinary thugs – these were military.

The voices had come from behind him, so he decided to risk a glance, and opened his eyes to a slit. The first thing he saw was the fake taxi driver, looking straight at him, and grinning as soon as he recognized the flicker of Kelly's eyelids. 'He's awake,' he said in English, and then translated it into broken Russian.

Kelly was grabbed from behind, and though he'd found his legs by now, they also appeared to be solidly tied, so kicking did little good. He was picked up bodily and carried into a corridor and from there, down a rickety staircase into a plain, empty cellar. The door closed behind two bulky shadowy figures, and he was in the dark, alone, knowing better than to shout.

-

Scotty stopped where the tracks stopped, next to three small square houses crowding each other at a bend in the path, and he listened. Two of the houses had lights on, but from only one could voices be heard. He strained his ears, caught the cadence of the language, and knew he had them. He took a step forward.

There was a click, much too close to his ear.

'Drop your gun,' a voice rumbled.

He had no choice. In any case, they'd probably take him to Kelly. He could always overpower this man, and then--

There was a sharp pain at the back of his head.

-

'[We may be compromised,]' said General Spalko, pacing the room. '[Prepare Base C2. We must have the equipment moved as soon as possible, and especially her.]' He spared a look of open disgust at Dee, who kept her mouth a straight line and refused to tremble. The General was a large man, heavy-built, with grey hair at his temples and none at his vivid black moustache. '[If any more of them come in through the woodwork, we may have to start shooting the damn yanks, and that's sloppy. Get a move on!]'

The small room exploded in a flurry of activity. A man was called in from the outside, only to be shouted back out by the General – the lookout, Dee guessed, as he'd been the one to bring Scotty in. That made five in all, four Russians – Dee recognize the language, even if she couldn't understand it – and one Englishman – or possibly Irish. She wished she'd traveled more. She wished she'd survive the night. She wished she could've said goodbye to Martie.

Another man came in, making it six. He spoke to the elder man who seemed to be in charge, who nodded and barked new orders. The Englishman, or possibly Irishman, took a rag and pushed it between her teeth, tying it on the back of her head. It crushed her tongue at the back of her mouth and tasted like sand and mud. 'There you go, love,' he said with a grin. 'Up we go,' he added, and pulled her up by her arm. The men picked up boxes, files and what looked like tape recorders, and she was pushed towards the door, and out.

-

  
Scotty was the first to get his hands free – mostly thanks to Kelly's fingers being defter still at undoing knots. He flexed his fingers once or twice before returning the favour. 'How long do you think we have?'

'Could be all night. Question is, how long does she?'

'Right.'

Kelly walked around the room twice, to get the feel back in his legs, and then reached for the top step of the staircase. He could only reach it by jumping, so he jumped, and hung on, swinging back and forth, until the inevitable occurred, and the structure came tumbling down.

'Well, that was easier than I thought.'

Almost as soon as the sound of the crash had died, there was a scuffling from above, and voices in Russian. Kelly cursed under his breath, and the two of them positioned themselves on the door's side of the room, backs to the wall. The door opened and there was a cry as the soldier came tumbling down, headfirst, and cracked his skull on the stone floor. 'Look before you leap!' said Kelly and jumped up, grabbing the second soldier by his ankles and dragging him, yowling, down into the cellar. Two taps, and the man was out.

Above, there were no more sounds. 'I guess we're in luck,' said Scotty, and handed over one of the men's guns to Kelly. 'After you.' Kelly jumped again, catching the door frame, and pulled himself up. Scotty followed suit.

Up in the room they found the remains of a meal, some empty boxes, and a stream of dark blood mixed in the dirt on the floor, possibly their own, a lamp and a bottle of wine, and three beds. 'Looks like they're gone,' Kelly said.

'How much did you hear?'

'Something about the Kidderpore Docks. Have you any idea at all what's going on?'

'Did you know your date's lover is one of ours?'

'Martie? Yeah. Do you think this has something to do with that?'

Scotty stopped, surprised, and readjusted his previous assumptions. 'Must be. She said she's retired, but there has to be something they still want from her, or they wouldn't be going after her girlfriend.'

'Something she neglected to tell our side, perhaps?'

'Could also be revenge. Did you hear what the men called the General?'

'Spalko? It does sound familiar.'

'I think he's the father or Irina Spalko.'

Kelly rubbed his aching head. 'Right.' Col. Dr. Irina Spalko had been Martie's way in to the Soviet secrets she'd ferried back to the States. She'd died in 1957, before the Russians had even found out how they'd been had, but she had been posthumously stripped of her honours in 1961, when there could no longer be doubt that she'd compromised security. That sort of thing could rankle a proud father – especially when you add in the implication of his daughter being a pervert. 'Kidderpore Docks. That's our clue.'

'Or we could go back to the party. I met Martie there, and we know they'll be contacting her.'

'I think if we go the the docks, we'll find Martie there soon enough too. They'll want to move fast, so she can't prepare herself. They will have delivered the summons tonight.'

'I don't suppose you heard a pier number?'

'Sorry.' After a pause he continued, 'There will be four of them, and Dee.'

'Oh well.' Scotty checked the gun to see count the remaining shots, then shoved it into his empty holster. 'We'll see what we do when we get there.'

-

They took Scotty's motorcycle as far as the edge of the dock area, and then crept along the shadows of the walls. Luckily, there were enough people of every nationality milling about even at this time of the night that they weren't nearly as conspicuous as they might have thought. As soon as the line of piers and the boats bobbing in the water came to view, it was not difficult at all to spot the one they were looking for. One of the smaller piers was deserted save for one speedboat tied to the very end, where a pile of crates was set up as a barricade between the pier end and its empty length. The now-familiar car was parked at the other end, and the group of men stood with Dee at the ground side.

'Good girl, Martie,' said Scotty when they saw it. 'Looks like she means to get away with it.'

  
'Or at least get Dee out of it,' said Kelly.

'Let's give her a couple more bargaining chips.'

They readied their guns and walked quietly up behind the group. The Englishman was the first to hear a footstep and twirl around. 'Bloody hell!'

Two guns were cocked at them, one at the crates, and the General kept his gun on Dee's head, his face fixed in a grimace or rage as his gaze swiveled from one end of the pier to the other. He opened his mouth to shout, and a shot rang out. There was a look of amazement in the General's eyes, and he slumped and fell. Dee cried out and threw herself to one side. Martie ducked back behind the crates as bullets thudded into them.

There was no choice. Kelly and Scotty fired, Scotty hitting one man square in the head, Kelly bringing another down with two shots to the chest. The last one, the Englishman, fired and hit Scotty in the left arm, a second bullet crazing his ribcage, before Martie gunned him down. She jumped over the crates and walked fast towards them, still firing into the bodies. Scotty, through the pain, was surprised to see her still in her sparkling white, her eyes gleaming with demonic anger.

Kelly was on his knees next to Scotty before Scotty even fully realized he'd slipped onto the ground.

'It's okay,' Scotty said, and believed it, in the general sense, but damn if it didn't hurt.

Martie had undone Dee's hands and taken out the gag, and was cradling her in her arms. Dee was shivering, but was already groping towards composure. 'Are you alright, darling?' Martie choked.

'Better than he is,' Dee said. 'We should get him to a hospital.'

Kelly glanced up. There was already a crowd at the end of the pier, and somebody was running. 'We need to get out of here,' he said, and turned to Scotty. 'Come on, buddy.'

Scotty blinked away the pain and, leaning his good arm on Kelly, struggled up.

'The speedboat,' said Martie, and they rushed down the pier. They got the motor started just in time, as there were shouts and a rush of feet as some of the braver among the crowd ran towards them. They sped down the river, past the larger boats and the ships, down the river.

Kelly stripped off his shirt and tied it in strips around Scotty's chest and arm. 'I can't get the bullet out with all this rocking,' he said.

'I have a first aid kit in the hotel room,' said Martie.

'We can't take him to a hospital, can we,' said Dee. It was not a question.

Martie threw a despairing glance in her direction. 'Darling, I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I swear I thought this was all behind me.' She grasped Dee's hand and looked at her imploringly.

Dee smiled, shakily at first, and then with full warmth, and stroked Martie's short hair, and her cheek. Kelly coughed.

'It ought to be over, now,' said Scotty through teeth gritted with pain. 'We think he went rogue to go after you. The Soviets don't usually spare men to hunt down inactive agents, not when their information would necessarily be years out of date.'

'I thought I recognized General Spalko,' said Martie quietly.

'My girlfriend's a modern Mata Hari,' said Dee. 'This will take some time to get used to.'

'Well, you know all about that,' said Martie with a quick grin and a wink.

Scotty decided this must be the happy ending, and promptly lost consciousness.

-

When he came to, it was to the exquisite experience of having Kelly dig into his arm in quest of the bullet. He immediately wished he hadn't, especially since his waking twitch had made Kelly poke the tweezer in at the wrong angle. 'Easy, buddy,' Kelly said.

'You say that too much recently.'

'Means you need to ease up more,' said Kelly, and caught the bullet. 'Ah!' He pulled it out to the accompaniment of another spurt of blood. Scotty felt faint. 'I need a steak,' he muttered. 'And then some... more steak.'

'All in due time,' said Kelly, swiftly bandaging the wound. By the feel of it, Scotty's side had already been bandaged.

'Where are we?'

'Martie's hotel. We tied up by the morning market and mixed with the crowd, and came in through the back, but we probably ought to move soon anyway. Luckily she's signed in under a fake name, to avoid fans.'

'Where are the girls?'

'Kissing and making up in the lounge.'

'What a world,' muttered Scotty.

'It's a shame,' said Kelly, clicking his tongue. 'Such pretty girls, wasted on... more pretty girls.'

'I hope you're not too broken up about it. You seemed quite taken with Dee.'

'I was, but not in the way you mean. She's a fine girl. Oh, here they are now,' Kelly added, as there was the sound of high heels in the hallway and, soon, keys in the lock. 'By the way, you and I are lovers.'

'What?'

'Just play along. Good morning, ladies!'

'Morning!' Martie exclaimed. 'I feel like I haven't slept in a week.' She fell down on the one sofa in the room, opposite the twin beds. Dee sat down next to her, more sedate, but looking no less tired.

'We're ready to clear out, soon as we get washed up,' said Kelly, carefully wiping blood off his fingers on a paper towels. 'If anyone asks, we were your one-night stands, and we'll swear we were nowhere near the docks after midnight.'

Martie snorted. 'Decadent Americans, eh?'

'Ever so decadent.'

'Pretty, witty and gay,' murmured Scotty.

'What's that, honey?' asked Kelly.

Scotty pulled Kelly down by his sleeve. 'I think I'm going to kill you,' he whispered.

'Not now, sweetie.' Kelly grinned.

'When you least expect it, _dearest_.'

'I'll, uh, I'll get you some more towels,' said Martie and stood up, grinning. Dee was already nodding off at the couch.

They took a rickshaw back to the captain's house, in which the remains of the party were still being picked up. Looking, with their partially missing clothing and staggering gait, like more of said remains, they made their way up to their shared room, stopping only to order some food.

'Should I carry you over the threshold?' said Kelly.

With his good hand, Scotty smacked him on the back of his head. 'What was that all about, anyway?'

'Oh, she assumed, and I didn't want to correct her, as it seemed to put her more at ease.' Kelly flopped down on his bed, just stopping long enough to throw off his tattered shirt. 'Now to sleep for a few hours and then write the report.'

'We should move on,' said Scotty. 'Also, find out how much the officials know, and take ourselves out of the picture.'

'You have a bullet in you. You're supposed to be more tired than me.'

'Just dial the number, will you?'

With a long-suffering sigh, Kelly hauled himself out of his bed and to the telephone, and ended up making all the arrangements while Scotty, exhausted, napped on his bed.

'There. Happy?' Kelly turned to Scotty after the last call, only to find the big man fast asleep.

He studied him, and walked around the room, fatigue forgotten for the moment. He eventually sat down by the window, and looked out across the view, at the bright day and the cloudless sky. He lit a cigarette and closed his lips over it, drawing the hot smoke into his lungs, and out again in a puff. It fulfilled a need, though not the one that had once more come too close to be uttered. It helped.

He picked up the phone again to call within the building to order some steak.


End file.
